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AD QUINTILIANUM               137
Strip god Priapus of each attribute Here finds he scarce a pedestal to foot, The gathered harvest scarcely brims a spoon ; And all my vintage drips in a cocoon. Generous are you, but I more generous still: Take back your farm and stand me half a gill!
O CHIEF director of the growing race,
Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace, Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive Before from labour I make haste to live ? Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule, Or with white statues fill the atrium full. The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke, Live fountains and rough grass, rny line invoke: A sturdy slave, not too learned wife, Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet life.
MY Martini owns a garden, famed to please, Beyond the Blades of the Hesperides ;
Along Jaiiiculuni lies the chosen block Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock. The moderate summit, something plain and bare, Tastes overhead of a serener air;                      .    .